


Shape of Desire

by BlackVelvet42



Series: End of the Rope [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: 5:1 Orgasm Ratio, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Sex Talk, Shameless Smut, Sweet Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 05:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: "Her message to Ayala was short: "1900 hours"."





	Shape of Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Killermanatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/gifts).



> This is for you Killermanatee, because you made The Belt™ sexy. Happy Birthday, Dear!
> 
> Thank you devovere, my wonderful beta, for sticking with me along this odd journey of KJ/Ayala madness and for giving me the idea for the last piece.

* * *

 

 

She watched Ayala all week.

On the bridge, in the mess hall. Whenever he passed her by or came to share her space, including one horrible moment in the lift.

Nothing. She found absolutely nothing that would catch anyone’s attention. He acted as if their heated one-time encounter had never happened.

She wasn’t sure whether the revelation made her more pleased or disappointed. Surely she was worth some disruption to his routines and peace of mind?

He’d definitely left a mark on her. Several.

After their night together, she’d woken up to her alarm, confused after too little sleep and the unaccustomed feel of a warm male body in her bed. His expression had been unreadable, his ‘good morning’ ridiculously neutral considering everything they’d done just a few hours before.

She couldn’t get him out of her quarters fast enough.

Only when he’d left and she’d retreated to the safety of her bathroom had she noticed how battered and sore she was.

Her neck had visible teeth marks, and her wrists bore prints in the shape and size of his fingers. Her muscles hurt like they did after days’ worth of combat training, and the huge unidentified bruise on her chest looked nothing short of a battle wound.

Every move washing her face hurt, but when she studied her reflection again, she couldn’t deny the most substantial change.

Her eyes were bright, full of life. A sight she hadn’t seen in years.

The dermal regenerator took care of the markings, and the uniform steeled her confidence, grounding her in reality. Nevertheless, she entered the bridge with a growing unease.

They would know. All of them, they would see right through her, see the difference in her.

Someone would remember how she had called Ayala into her ready room the day before, and someone else would recall him entering her quarters, not seen again until this morning. From there, the gossip would spread like wildfire.

What a mess.

Despite her trepidation, life on board Voyager continued in its usual, orderly pattern.

No one glanced at her knowingly or made a subtle, inappropriate comment. She heard no whispers in the corridors, and even Tom didn’t seem to have any clue of the profound shift right under his nose.

And Ayala was the way he had always been, calm and controlled, quietly concentrating on his duties, never once looking at her if she didn’t address him directly.

When had he developed such a poker face?

At first, his demeanor eased her irrational fears, made it possible for her to continue her responsibilities, and, at her own pace, come to terms with the storm she had initiated.

Their arrangement had spiraled out of her control amazingly fast, her firm plan and clear mind vaporizing the moment he had touched her. And his efficiency in tearing down every wall she had built around her, pulling her out of the darkness and over the edge with him had simply been a miracle.

She sighed at the memory and glanced in his direction yet again. True, he was not the man she had dreamed would share her bed, but he had turned out to be much more than she’d expected.   

Days passed and she found herself increasingly curious about him. They’d spoken so little.

What could he possibly be thinking? Was he at all affected by their night together? How did he reconcile the conflict between his captain and the woman he’d pinned beneath him, the woman crying out her ecstasy at his violent love?

Wasn’t there anything he wanted of her?

Maybe he needed some distance too, some time to gather his thoughts. Rushing things now, before they were both back to reason, would only complicate her hopes for the future.

Once her inner turmoil began to subside, she became aware of the indisputable positive effects their encounter had on her well-being. She was more relaxed than she had been in ages, more focused on the present. She felt energetic and less… haunted, somehow.

By the end of the week, though, she was also frustrated, irritated, and – if she was honest – more than a bit hurt.

Obviously, sex with him had meant more to her than it did to him. If she wanted more, like she sure as hell did, she would have to crawl to him.

How degrading.

Drawing strength from the fact that she was, after all, a Starfleet captain, she endured another week of conflict and indecision. Days followed one after another in a haze of fantasy and faltering attention, nights spent sleepless with growing arousal, until she reached her limit.

Her message to Ayala was short: “1900 hours”.

He chimed at her door on time like before, but now he was in civilian clothing, without a PADD to excuse his presence in her quarters. He stepped in with confidence and determination bearing no resemblance to his earlier obedient respect.

Such subtle signals, yet the message was loud and clear. Outside duty, in private, they were equals and he was done playing by her rules.

“You asked for me?” he demanded as soon as the doors closed behind him.

Unprepared for his chilliness, she bit her lip, undecided how to proceed. Like he didn’t know damn well why she’d asked him to come.

“I was hoping we could… that you could…”

Why was speaking suddenly so difficult?

How hard was it to say she’d been wet and waiting for him all day? That she wanted him to take her like he did before, rough and fast, and then again, slowly but equally bruising, to make her shout out her pain and her pleasure and hear him roaring between her breasts with his own release.

“Fuck you? You hoped I would fuck you, is that it, Kathryn?”

She blinked, dumbfounded.

Was he angry?

“You thought you could call me in here whenever it suited your schedule, assumed I didn’t have anything else to do but to wait until you need me again?”

Knuckles white and shoulders tense, his voice was rising from his usual cool, eyes flaming with wounded pride.

“And then you probably expect me to read your mind again and know what the hell it is you want this time, so you can live out your fantasy without having to actually talk with me?”

The truth in his words stung, and his rage mixed with lust confused her thoroughly.

“No, that’s not how I…” she tried, but he was already coming at her, the wild heat in his eyes wiping away everything else.

He caught both her wrists and pinned her to the wall, crushing her with his large body, and silenced her cry with a furious kiss.

The hurt and the hint of blood in her mouth made no difference. Her body remembered and responded, his brutality spinning her senses into the whirl of dark passion she hungered for.

He loosened his hold on her to undo his belt and pants, then pushed her face down against the table. Gripping the back of her neck to hold her still, he ripped off her panties from under her nightgown and pulled out his fully hard cock.

“Is this how you like it, Kathryn? Is this how you want me?” he growled and spread her legs, the uncontrolled intensity in his actions heightening her arousal into a fever.

Then her focus sharpened on a certain item among his clothes scattered on the floor, flashing her to a time when she had been free to seek pleasure how she chose.

“Belt…” she panted.

The rest was choked to a moan when he pushed two fingers inside her, curled and rubbed, with more force than necessary.

“Please, the belt…” she tried again, more urgent. “Please, use it on me.”

The leather belt was in his hands in a heartbeat, making her tense in anticipation.

“What? You want me to HIT you?” he roared with frustration and disbelief. On an impulse, he swung the belt whistling down across her ass.

The red-hot pain shot throughout her, tearing from her lips first a cry at the torturous delight and then a hoarse plea for more.

“Jesus Christ, you enjoy this?!” he shouted and, as if allowing himself a chance to think about what he was doing would make the task impossible, he lashed her again four times in quick succession.

Each strike came harder than the previous, but before the last, he paused a fraction of a second. Through the blood rushing in her ears, she thought she heard a suffocated sound from him.

The final hit was fueled with all his strength, and the leather broke her skin.

Her scream sliced the air and remained, echoing in their ears along with their joint panting, marking the moment the sharpest edge of their desperation was spent.

Dizzy and trembling, she lay on the cool surface, unable and unwilling to move. The welts on her behind burned and pulsed, and between her legs was an ache to be filled. Moisture dripping down her thighs, she whimpered her need as he probed her opening and thrust into her without care.

His pounding was ruthless, punishing her for wrongs imagined and real. Yielding to the mindless pleasure, she clutched the edge of the desk and accepted all he had to offer.

His anger, his confusion, his own neglected needs.

She required so little to come. Only a few violent thrusts and she reached her peak, her inner walls clenching around him, radiating the fire of life along every nerve from core to outer limits.

In the wake of the thunder came the bliss, the sob, and the tears. Helpless, quiet tears flowing freely, pouring out a pain deeper than the one on her skin, to be replaced with a calm.

He pulled out, but stayed close, his chest pressed against her back and his full erection resting undemanding between them.

For a while, they simply breathed together, heat cooling and reason surfacing in the ebbing wake of their passion. Both aware they needed to discuss what had just happened, but content for the moment to share this temporary peace.

Regardless of his outburst, her opinion of him remained unaffected.

In essence, he was a kind, considerate man. Once he realized what he had done and saw the marks he had carved on her, he’d be horrified. Misunderstanding and self-blame could easily follow, and she didn’t want him to regret something that to her had been close to perfection.

At her sigh, he got up and took her hand, leading her to the couch.

“I’ll get us something to drink,” he said, regaining in his usual composure.

While he went to the replicator, she pulled down the hem of her gown to cover the damage on her skin. Still, he turned back in time to see her flinch when she sat down.

“It hurts?” he asked with concern, offering her the glass and settling beside her. Even as she was forming her assurance, she knew her answer wouldn’t be enough.

“You really like the pain, don’t you?” he asked then, more a statement than a real question.

“Among other things, yes. I’ve always enjoyed when I’m handled rough,” she admitted, glancing at him. “Does that bother you?”

He considered the thought.

“No, I don’t think so,” he concluded. “I guess that kind of intensity just caught me off guard. Your request and response, and my own too, wasn’t quite what I’m used to.”

She smiled at that, a lifetime of memories surfacing.

“Isn’t that part of the beauty, how the shape of desire is always changing?” she asked softly. “A place, a time, two people’s needs meeting… there’s no predicting what will happen.”

He didn’t reply, only stared into his glass, slipping away from her to somewhere distant. She studied his silence for awhile, then decided to follow an instinct.

“I’m not your wife, Mike. I can’t give you what she did.”

His head snapped up and he looked at her, about to deny what her words suggested, then turned away again and let out a long breath.

“I know.”                                                                       

Embedded in that tiniest gesture was the depth of his suffering, making visible what she had already suspected.

His longing written in his silence and isolation, his loss weighing on his shoulders. His attempt to fill the emptiness with duty, hoping that if he concentrated on the outside, he wouldn’t have to feel how his heart had been ripped in two.

“Why didn’t you come this time?” she asked, leading the discussion away from circumstances neither had the power to change. “You could have kept going. Unless was it… not good for you?”

A sad scenario, but she would have understood.

“You surprised me, that’s all. Or, maybe shocked would be closer to the truth,” he confessed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about…”

“No need to be sorry. I really am fine,” she interrupted, hoping he would now believe her.

He set down his glass next to hers and turned to her, and for the first time during the evening he seemed to be truly seeing her. With unexpected warmth, he reached out and brushed her cheek.

“You were wild, Kathryn,” he whispered. ”Absolutely beautiful. I’d gladly give that pleasure to you again. All you have to do is ask.”

Breaking into a smile of relief and gratitude, she tilted her head and kissed the inside of his wrist, a feeling much like happiness bubbling inside her.

She’d made the right choice. They were a good match, in more ways than one.

“You were quite wonderful too, you know,” she murmured, the lightness in her heart bringing a deliberate tease into her tone. “And I can’t possibly let you leave before I’ve given something in return.”

His confusion was adorable. Did he really think she’d end the evening here?

Grinning wickedly at him from under her lashes, she took his thumb into her mouth and sucked along its length, pleased to see his eyes widen.

“Tell me, what is it _you_ want?” she purred, kissing each of his fingers in turn but, after a few attempts from him, was left without a solid answer.

Apparently, voicing one’s innermost needs wasn’t difficult only for her. No matter, she could be creative too.

Sliding her leg over him, she straddled his lap and gazed down at him. Palms pressed against his chest, she could feel the rapid beat of his heart and focused her thoughts.

What could this man want? What kind of needs kept him awake at night? What was the secret fantasy he pictured when he stroked himself to orgasm?

She threaded her fingers into his thick hair, pushing him back to rest against the cushions, and moved her hips tentatively, rubbing his stirring erection, and witnessed his lids flutter.

Oh yes, this wouldn’t be complicated at all.

She lifted her gown over her head, baring her soft curves to his view, and marveled at the speed with which his hands curled around her and pulled her closer, hungry to taste the creamy skin he was served.

He breathed deep between her breasts, caressing her back from her neck to her ass, delaying the moment before sucking a nipple into the heat of his mouth with a low contented growl.

Any ideas she might have had of control liquefied into his touch and the primal sound from his throat.

Eyes heavy with lust, she watched him, licking a breast while cupping the other, molding her nipples taut and heavy with need. Every gentle twirl of his tongue was followed by a bite and a pull, every soft knead with a pinch and twitch, to be soothed and calmed again.

She could feel his cock straining against his pants and her clit pulsed in reply, fresh moist rushing from her core to welcome him in.

“The bedroom,” he grunted, rising to his feet and taking her with him. “I want you on your bed.”

Her legs tightly around his waist, each step spiced with devouring kisses, they stumbled into her sleeping area and fell onto the bed tangled together, continuing uninterrupted.

Despite the prolonged arousal painting his moves with a feverish energy, he took his time to savor her. Pleasing and tormenting, building her up and delaying climax, like an explorer set to enjoy the travel as much as the destination.

With every caress, his hands learned more of her pleasure, each kiss drawing out another desire she couldn’t have expressed with words. Creating a space where one sensation blended into the next, feeding her hunger and nourishing her soul.

Her soft moans and whispered pleas urged him forward, her heat calling him to touch her, tease her, fill her. Unselfish generosity ingrained in his being, he flooded her with a stream of passion, fulfilling her needs tenfold.

He brought her to orgasm once with his long fingers and twice with his warm mouth. Easily, she followed his lead into an endless ocean of bliss until her muscles were trembling with exhaustion and her voice hoarse from hours of ecstasy.

A faint disturbance kept flickering at the edge of her consciousness, but only at the crest of her fourth orgasm, shattering apart into light and joy, did the dissonance finally receive a form and a name.

His worship was simply too generous, intense, and pure.

Too close to love.

It was barely a revelation, more like something she already knew and accepted.

She might be the woman he was making love to, the woman enjoying his attention, but she was not the object of his tenderness and devotion, not really.

These efforts to bring her a piece of heaven were fueled by an image burned into his being, of a woman to whom he had given vows of forever, shared a past and dreamed a future. The other part of his soul he would continue searching his way back to for the rest of his days.

Weak with emotion, she pulled him closer and parted her thighs in a silent plea for him to have her, to find his path to completion.

“You can think of her,” she whispered as his large body covered hers, meaning every word from the depths of her heart. If this was what she could offer him in return for the peace he had brought her, it would be no price at all.

The look on his face was disoriented, unresponsive. His mind somewhere far away.

He wrapped his arms tight around her and cradled her into the shelter of his strength. Burying his face into her hair, absorbing her scent and taste, he aligned himself at her entrance.

His voice hitched in helpless surrender when he pushed, sliding his length into her all the way. But even there, he pressed deeper still, as if he was driven to merge together with her into a single entity.

Then he began to move and the name leaving his lips was breathed like a prayer.

“Maria…”

 

* * *

 


End file.
